Night
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: Change is only measured in our perception of it. Heavy on the angst. MMAD.


**Night**

The room was softly lit; candlelight flickered gently as though breaths of wind sailed through the air. The atmosphere was heady with the overwhelming scent of lemon, as though it meant something. It was intoxicating. The flagstone floors were cold, but the bed was warm.

In that bed, there he lay.

The despicable one.

The one who adored that malodorous lemony stench, but also, the man that adored her. He was beautiful; situation planned it this way and he rose to the occasion like a phoenix rising from the ashes. His beard and hair were tangled together-- he looked an unkempt lion. She smiled shyly at him from afar; this only added to his overall beauty.

As if he could sense her presence, he lifted his head, twinkling his sapphire eyes at her before he beckoned her forth through the translucent bed curtains. She all but ran to him, clad in almost nothing of a crimson bit of nightwear. He touched her tenderly, holding her near before he let her go to stare her in the eye…

In his gaze, she sensed something more, something she could not place. It blazed at her, the unknowable quality, and it bothered her that she could not place its definition. He touched her cheek, moaning a little as he said, "I love you, Minerva."

He brought her nearer and kissed her neck softly, several times, eliciting in several sighs of pleasure from her before he even brought her nearer. Even as their lovemaking progressed, however, the manner in which he lavished her seemed troubled, as though he felt guilty about something…

When the eternity was at last, at an end, Minerva felt her eyelids droop in exhaustion as she lay near him, desperate to feel his warmth for a bit longer. In spite of this, she asked sleepily, "Albus, what is troubling you?"

She felt him stiffen beside her, as though he had turned to a brick wall- cold, unyielding to her touch. "I-- I do not mean to worry you unnecessarily, my dear. It is my own past that bothers me, nothing more. Do not trouble yourself."

"Enough of this poppycock," she flared rather sternly, all prior thoughts of sleep abandoned. "You _will_ tell me what is bothering you. We needn't keep any more secrets from one another; I thought we had agreed to this, and you seemed quite happy with compliance at the time I suggested it--"

"--my love, I do not mean to trouble you--"

"You have a funny way of showing it."

Albus looked at her, so beautiful and so younger than he, a rose not fully bloomed, and had to suppress a shudder. Not a word escaped his lips despite his great desire to relate his troubles… he just couldn't speak of it.

He fumbled for several minutes before Minerva's impatience lashed again. "Spit it out."

"I--" he faltered again and Minerva amended the path she had chosen by turning around.

"Albus, if it is bothering you _this_ much, it must be something serious and I'd much rather hear about it now as opposed to later--" pausing, she added softly, "--_whatever_ it is, Albus, I love you."

It seemed as though the weather had cleared and sun appeared again in his sight as he whispered in kind, "Thank you, Minerva, but this is something that I cannot reveal. You will know in time, but for now, let us sleep, and dream. Your confidence in me is greatly comforting."

"Comforting?! _Dream _of all things?!" she whispered in outrage, but he was sound asleep. Minerva had half a mind to wake him, but as she stared at him, something touched her and she couldn't bring herself to wake him. He slept soundly for the first time in weeks and her irritancy dimmed as she crept nearer to him, slipping into her own slumber even as his arm wrapped around her when he turned toward her in his sleep. He cradled her in his arms and they both slept quite content.

=~*~=

And like a candle burnt to its end, the light she once so softly kissed, disappeared, swallowed in the depths of night as the old woman awoke, cursing her mind that was so endlessly entertained by dreams. Without thought, as if death itself had unraveled its previous will and design, her wrinkled hand reached beside her, expecting the constant, the one exempt to matters pertaining to space or time…

But the blankets were cold, empty, uninviting; they smelled of nothing and left no hint of another. The absence left her feeling cold, unworthy, and barren. She suddenly relished in the raw emotion, and felt so deeply that she deserved every minute of it.

"Oh Albus," she said begrudgingly, a whisper of disinclined despair, "I always chastised you for cherishing your dreams. Now I can never leave mine…"

* * *

**A/N:** _I fear that my writing isn't the same as it used to be-- it has that choked, formal quality to it, and though I do realize it's better than what I used to write, I'm kind of worried it's stuck in this style. There's an irrational fear for you. Yes, I have them too. :D Anyway, I wrote this last night and decided to post it... -shrugs- Not much else to it. I was watching the Olympics and was struck with an image, the end. :D I hope you enjoyed. _


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